Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for February 12

Write us a spanking poem.

Bonnie: Here are a couple more spanko limericks:

A spankee is someone who knows
Punishment without any clothes
Hard swats on bare ass
The high cost of sass
Delivered while touching her toes

I knew when he stared right at me
That I'd soon be over his knee
A spanking awaits
I tempted the fates
Now comes our percussive medley

Sore is More: Wow, thank you for the shoutout, Hermione! After such a compliment, that's quite a tall order, but, here we go, a brand spanking new poem, partially inspired by Erica's recent post, and I threw in some Valentine's vibes. Also with a mini-challenge to write an Ode to belt without mentioning the word.

Red thornless roses, petals drop
From sheer force of sweetest torture
The sting, the bite, old chestnut trope
So many other ways to scorch her

The whitest shirt with rolled up sleeves
The snaking through and buckle's sound
The darkest eyes that never leave
My face, my heart, once lost and found

Of all the things that turn me on
The doubled over all-time winner
Thick brown leather, thanks a ton
Turns us into eternal sinners

The watch is ticking on his wrist
As loud as my heart is leaping
Competing with the other beast
His arm will yield in nearing whipping

Of all the things that matter more
The only one that really matters
To clean the slate, to set the score
And chocolate for quiet after

Prefectdt: A bit short notice, but this is what I came up with over my Sunday morning coffee.

There was a young lady from Maine
Who was incredibly good with a cane
With a rod in her fist
She never has missed
leaving deep welts hot with pain

 JR: Fantasies

What e're may be your fantasy
You'll always have a man to see

On the bed, across a sofa
Anything you wish to go for

Secretary, nurse or teacher
Name the place and there I'll meet ya.

Silk or vinyl, fur or leather,
Or on a hillside midst the heather.

Upstairs, downstairs, by the sea.
Or from time to time, across my knee.

For thanks to you I've learnt the art
Of making naughty bottoms smart.

(For misbehaviour's soon amended,
When the naughty girl's upended!)

I trust this doesn't seem perverse
And you'll enjoy my little verse.

In front, behind, below, above...
What matters is, it's done with love!

So in dreams or in reality
You'll always be the girl for me.

Wendel: Violets are blue
Roses are red
Thoughts of spanking you
Dance in my head
We head to the kitchen
Where the chair does wait
You are getting a severe spanking
There is no debate
You flash me a frown
As you pull your pants down.
Over and over
As my hand smacks your bottom's skin
I know between the screams
Your face has a grin
And when it is over
And your bottom is quite sore
Know this to be true
Despite this spanking
I love you

And that is why I do not write poetry. Happy spankings to all.

Jean Marie: I like haiku poetry. Here are a couple to add to this brunch's faire.

#1. Spankings
My panties pulled down
Spanking's getting serious
A heaven of hurt

#2. Canings
Schoolgirl skirts are cute
I did not think wearing one
would earn me canings!

#3. Strappings
Love the razor strap
leatherings that sting so much
then warm and glow red

Rosco: Not exactly spanking (she’s the dominant one):

Irene of the feminine gender
From the front appears oh so slender
But turn her round and you’ll find
A most magnificent behind
That blossoms whenever you bend her

Reverse cowgirl cunnilingus
I’m her slave, she’s my Venus

Bonnie: OK, two more and then that's it.

Punished, red, embarrassed, and sore
Butt well paddled, waiting for more
I want it this way
Not just for today
It’s a joy I feel to my core

You ask why I love to get swats
When it feels like four hundred watts
It shocks me so good
When he lays the wood
More spanking you ask? I’ll take lots

This is fun. I should start a blog.

Now there's an idea!

Sore is More: One more, one more! I rushed to write a new one and completely forgot that I already HAD two spanking poems, one is called Never in Anger and the other one, Bottom Song, my very first post. You can find all the poems and limericks on the Poems page. But, Never in anger is very dear to me and although a few of you already saw it, I really wanted to add it here. Sorry, it's a bit long:

Never in anger
Never in fear
Feeding my hunger
Consciousness clear

Voice low and curt
Cue butterflies and shivers
Willing but hurt
Is the hesitant giver

Clear that slate
Wipe out that guilt
Never too late
To confess what I feel

Safer than ever
Sting of the cane
Lick of the leather
Consented and sane

Holding high court
Not allowed to veer
Belt folded short
Spells business and tears

Smack of the hand or
Stroke of the belt
Swish of a hanger
Doled out and dealt

Taut, bound, and sore
It's never a game
My body and soul are
Yours only to claim

Thud of the paddle
Whisk of the whip
Rise off the saddle
Taking the leap

Drowned in pain
Covered in snot
Naked and seen
Judged I'm not

Bye, dear fairies
Back on your lap
Humbled and bleary
Closing the gap

Seeking surrender
Crimson and over
Sinfully tender
Dutiful lover

Malleable rebel
Cherished and loved
By the guardian devil
Sent from above

Stilled, acquiesced
And knelt in the night
Thanks for the rescue
My fearless knight

Jean Marie: If we're doing multiple entries, I want to get on-board! Here's one of mine in rhyming alternate couplets that I like:

The Third Date

Weighed down and burdened by insatiable guilt,
I lay nude across the edge of the bed.
“Be hard on me,” I ask, looking only at the quilt,
humiliation, anticipation, and ‘rousal mixing with the dread.

The belt is unbuckled, withdrawn, and virginally used.
He strictly straps my fanny to a warm, burnished glow.
Though I cry real tears, I feel only loved, not abused,
and ache for a way to let my reciprocated love show.

He’s a man of few words, now does his talking only with the strap,
unlike that belt, that communicates through both bark and bite.
Then his fingers convey such love, tracing marks that resemble a road map,
that I must part my thighs, arch my back, and expose my sex to his sight.

Sweat glistens from bodies, we both labor for breath,
his cock springs from tight jeans, engorged like my clit.
Emily D. once wrote that she could count on love even after death.
Aloud I count the last strap-stroke/love-tap that won’t let me sit.

“You’re hard,” I exclaim, simultaneous with his, “You’re wet,”
confirming that we share the same appetite for kink,
thereby my sin and guilt, his retribution all seem like Kismet.
We are Siamese twins, joined in the same lascivious way we think.

He enters me from behind, hips slap where the strap just had.
We shared the best foreplay, and now sex that’s even better.
“I love it when you’re hard on me,” I groan, feeling wonderfully bad,
“And that you observe a law both in the spirit and to the letter.”

Just as I suspected, we are perfectly matched as sides of a coin,
E Pluribus Unum, Top and bottom, give and take, his head in my tail.
The discovery culminates in climaxes we simultaneously join.
“Promise me that you’ll always be hard on me, in me,” I softly wail.

“I promise,” he whispers minutes later, as we in afterglow bask,
still coupled like spoons put away in the drawer.
“Now, promise me your hand in marriage,” he’s unexpectedly moved to ask.
I answer, “If you’ll employ your hand by spanking me forevermore…”

Hermione: Ron has always been a big fan of iambic pentameter, so here's one for him.

A Confession

It has ever been my fond delight
From morning's early rays to darkest night
To drape you o'er my knees and hold you tight
And bare the double mounds, so pearly white,
Address them with my palm, now left, now right
With taps of sternest order, never light,  
To turn them brightest crimson, glowing bright,
Then behold, admire that joyous sight.

Wow! This is the longest brunch summary ever! Thank you all for your creative participation.

Glory to Ukraine